Daughter of Britannia
by KeepSailingKids
Summary: Raised in the shadow of a fort dedicated to training Holy Knights, Imogen thirsts for adventure. Instead, at sixteen, she is sent to court to learn the etiquette and talents of a young woman. Court life, however, is more fraught with danger than she expected and Imogen finds herself on a quest to reunite The Seven Deadly Sins with her mistress, Princess Elizabeth. Slight AU.


**Disclaimer**:_I don't SDS._

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_"Feel the tide shifting away from this war  
Yeah you gotta swim  
Don't let yourself sink  
Just follow the horizon  
I promise you it's not as far as you think..."  
_**-"Swim" **_by _**Jack's Mannequin****  
**

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**|Imogen|**

I have to be still and silent or I'll give away my hiding spot. I flatten my back into the enormous yew tree that stands at the edge of the glade. As I press deep, jagged edges of bark scratches my skin through the thin linen of shirt. The momentary pain brings giddiness to an end. My mind clears as I ready myself.

"Over there!" Thestian's voice rings out from behind a stand of trees. I squeeze into the broad trunk as if I can vanish into its breadth. Beads of sweat rolling down my brow and aching arms remind me again of _how _much work I've put into this. To lose this match now will be crushing. I wipe the moisture away with the back of my hand, matting a damp lock of auburn hair to my skin.

I pause, listening to the sound of the world around me. Waiting. The jabber of ravens gather in the treetops will mask much of his effort to be quiet. My ears must be sharper than my weapon. He's been working on stealth and getting quite good. _I've got to be better._

Gripping the worn leather hilt of my sword, I raise the blade. It's an old training weapon from the fort, smaller than those true Holy Knights use and certainly not as sharp. Still, this battered blade feels right in my hands. Wielding this sword, I cut away the boredom of daily chores and the tedious promise of my future.

Hazy fingers of sunshine poke through the arching canopy of branches above me, illuminating the bright green grass below. The break in the thicket to my left is open, ripe for ambush.

A twig snaps. I almost hear his curse ring in my mind, bringing a smile to my lips.

I fight the urge to peek around the side of my tree, knowing either Thestian or Rhys will spot me immediately.

Another careful step betrayed by a delicate crush of leaf-litter. Though out of sight, I feel him closing in.

I inhale deeply to stay calm. I will not make my usual mistake. Acting before it's time has been my downfall before. I wipe the perspiration from each of my hands on the old leather trousers borrowed from my brother, never completely releasing my grip on the sword.

Merrick's recent lesson to the men at the ford echo through my mind. _"When outnumbered or overpowered, use surprise." _My muscles tense, taut like a bowstring.

I'm ready.

I feel him closer. A presence so familiar to me from the moment I first draw breath, I can tell more from sensing him than by speaking. He's as ready as I, but has yet to find me. I shoot from the safety of the tree. Thestian's mouth drops open in surprise but his sword flies without hesitation. I swing hard, deflecting his blow. The resounding clang of colliding metal crashes through the cries of ravens fleeing above.

Thestian's sword swings again. Mine meets the offensive with a crash that makes my bones tremble. Tired and sore, I pull away.

"You'll have to do better than that, Imogen!" my brother laughs haughtily. He's panting and steps back as he wipes the sweat from his eyes with his shirtsleeve. "You'll never become a Holy Knight's apprentice at this rate."

I stare into my taunting twin's eyes. My eyes. It's a cruel joke and he knows it. A burning fury extinguishes my fatigue, igniting the dive to prevail. Everything else disappears. _This time, I will win! _As if in anticipation, the glossy leaves of the hawthorn trees surrounding the glade stops quivering; the wind is holding its breath.

Thestian raises his weapon. Sidestepping forward, he swings. I lift my sword and force myself into the blow. Blade on blade, we stare at one another, mirror images of exhausted determination.

Rolling up onto his toes, Thestian uses his slight height advantage to push me down. I try to counter with my own force, but I'm forced back onto my heels and end up stumbling backwards.

"This is it, sister!" He slices the air, locking swords.

Holding tight, I feel my brother tiring, just as I am. A shuddering muscle in his jaw reveals how much he's straining. His sword is positioned too low. Soon he will grow careless; I need to outlast him.

Thestian's sword flashes up, forcing me off balance. I dive under another swipe and land with a painful thump on the hard earth. My sword is no longer in my hands.

Thestian's cocky laughter fills the air.

Face down in the dirt, I reach forward and snatch up my weapon. I roll over and scramble to my feet. I spit pieces of dried leaves onto my chin, determined not to be humiliated in defeat.

"Surrender yet?" Thestian arches a brow, suggesting that he's toying with me.

"Not on your life!" I mutter. Gripping the sword tighter, I raise it for an attack. I make certain my stubborn smile matches his. "By my king and country, I will bring you to your knees!"

"Better be careful, Thes!" calls Rhys from the edge of the clearing. A long and sturdy young man, Rhys leans easily against a tree where I've once hid and took a loud bite from an apple. "She's gettin' good."

I keep my eyes focused on Thestian. Rhy's acknowledgement of my skill gives me a renewed sense of confidence.

Thestian swings. I step to the right. His blade cuts into the ground where I was standing. I see the opening and I lean into it, thrusting my sword forward, throwing all my weight behind the move. Too late, I realize I should have steered left. Thestian bows his lanky body and I fly past, stumbling into the bushes. Frantic, I whirl about. Thestian has my back to the thicket; I'm trapped. I glance over his shoulder, eager for a way to escape his snare, bot only spot my pony, Mairwen, having her breakfast a short distance behind my brother.

"It's over, little sister." Thestian lashes out with his sword in a final blow.

I lunge into his assault, pushing up as he slams down. I dig my feet into the ground to keep from being knocked back. Then it all seems so clear; I can win with luck and a distraction. Through clenched teeth, I snap my tongue against the roof of my mouth, hoping that my message is received.

Suddenly, Thestian pitches forward. I duck to the side in time to watch my brother sail into the very thicket that threatened to swallow me. Turning to my left, I smile at my stout mare and fish from my pocket a small piece of pynade, the honey candy she loves so much, and hold it out to my old friend.

Thestian swears as he struggles to free himself from the bramble. Laughing, I sweep down on his sword lying in the dirt and point it at him. "You're my prisoner!"

Stunned, Thestian tugs at a burr that's stuck in his tangle of brown hair. "You cheated!" he cries.

"I won." Resting my brother's sword on the side of his neck, I smile. "You're my prisoner now."

Rhys lets out a surprised guffaw. "I think she bested ya this time, Thes."

Thestian frowns at his friend. "Her horse knocked me down!" He pushes the dull blade aside and takes it from my hand. "It wasn't a fair match."

"You're taller than, her," says Rhys. "'s _that _fair?"

"_Bewitching _her bloody horse is just wrong." Thestian shot me a hard look.

I try not to laugh at his taunt of witchcraft. I've never denied that my connection with my horse is deep, but I've been skimming sweets from the kitchens to train her. I've never dreamed that my little mare's desire for candy would be so useful. "It pays to have allies, brother. Would our king be so strong had he not made powerful friends to stand by his side?"

Turning my back to my brother, I reach out to my pony. I sweep my hand over Mairwen's soft chestnut coat and place my old sword in a sheath under the saddle. I wish that Thestian would concede the cleverness of my win, but acknowledging a loss to me is too big a blow to his image of aspiring to be a Holy Knight. I console myself with the notion that this is the first time I've beaten him in a test of swords since he started training at the fort with Merrick. Still, my need to take aim at him burns strong.

"Have you gotten that invitation to court yet, brother?" I ask over my shoulder. I bit the inside of cheek, taking a wicked pleasure in teasing him.

"I'll get to the capital before _you_, little sister," Thestian grits out.

"Not after being defeated by a _girl_."

Improbable as they are, I've got my own dreams of making it to the capital. The fact that Thestian is likely to realize he has stoked both my envy and resentment. When along with my thoughts during chores, I always envision being invited to court by King Bartra himself. Once there, life will be one adventure after another, be it delivering a message for the king to a distant land or simply riding out on the hunt with other Holy Knights. This dream ensures I will not just be known as my father's daughter or, gods help my soul, a village wife and mother.

"You cheated," Thestian repeated. His voice no longer carries the sour ring of defeat but the haughty tone of one who's convinced himself he's right.

"She doesn't have the benefit of your trainin'," Rhys reminds him.

I grin at Rhys, happy he's willing to come to my aid in this skirmish between siblings. "That's right," I say. "Certainly Merrick would agree that I should use what's available to me."

Thestian's grimace tells me that interpreting our uncle's words will win no arguments with him, as I only learn Merrick's lessons after my brother repeats them for me. "He means _real _weapons, Imogen, not dumb animals."

"Dumb enough to defeat you," I snap.

Thestian's frown gives way to a baleful smile as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a smooth, round stone flecked with bits of red. He fingers it briefly before flipping the stone into the air and catching it. His battle stone.

Turning away, I try to ignore a sharp twinge of envy. The stone all but guarantees that Thestian will one day ride off on an adventure, while I will be left behind.

Holding the stone up to the sunlight, Thestian feigns examining it. He brings it to his lips and blows hot breath onto it before polishing it on his sleeve. "As it's customary to retrieve one's stone upon return to battle, I s'pose I'll have to lay mine in a very special place. It'd be a shame for it to get lost in a pile of common rubble."

The heat of challenge bubbles in my chest. "Another contest," I demand. "Any horse in the fort's stable against me on Mairwen."

"I acc-"

"Imogen!" My older sister Alaina's angry voice booms from the path at the top of the hill behind us.

My face flushes as I feel her tone laced with disapproval. Releasing Mairwen's reins, I turn to face Alaina's scorn.

Tall and slim, with fine features, Alaina has the same flaming orange hair as our father's, giving her a fierce look when she's angry. She stomps into the glade and slams down her basket filled with cuttings. "You promised Father this was over," she says. She pulls back the hood she wears to keep the sun from her pale skin, revealing a scowl of disappointment.

I struggle to think of a story that justifies why I'm wearing my brother's old clothes and sparring with swords. I sigh with resignation. It's too late to lie. While my battles with my brother can be frustrating, my battles with my sister are infuriating.

Thestian muffles a laugh. He throws back his shoulders and puffs up his chest the way the med do at the fort when they mean to educate an underling on the way of war. "Come now, Alaina," he says in his most mature voice. "It's all in good fun. No one's hurt."

Spinning around, Alaina faces down her little brother. "No one's hurt, you say?" She steps closer to Thestian as he shrinks back with an uneasy smile. "What about Imogen?"

"I'm not hurt," I say, though I know I do not speak to what she means. "These dull little swords can't harm a hen."

"Are the two of you _ever _serious? Aren't the stories that surround you for being twins bad enough? Imogen dressing in men's clothing? Fighting? You know people already talk about you being tainted."

Inwardly I cringe at my sister's words, but I've learned not to show it bothers me. "We don't pay attention to ridiculous village gossip," I say.

"The natterings of old women don't trouble us," adds Thestian.

Alaina's frown gives way to a look of concern. "This goes well beyond the village. Imogen, your very future depends on your reputation. It's the only thing of value a woman has." Alaina grabs her basket. "Get changed. Bretta has chores for you at the manor."

I groan and kick at the dirt.

"You're not a child, Imogen," Alaina snaps. "Stop acting like one. Girls younger than you are married at court."

Stung at my sister's rebuke, I retort, "They why aren't _you_?"

Stunned, Alaina stands motionless.

I lift my chin, steeling myself for my sister's wrath. I defiantly meet her eyes. Instead of the anger anticipated, I see the shadow of sorrow behind her stern gaze. I turn away as shame wiggles into my gut, mingling with the annoyance already brewing there.

Without a word to either Thestian or I, Alaina flips her hood up, turns, and heads back up the path toward the village.

Still smarting from my sister's words but guilty from wounding her, I duck into the bushes and remove a leather sack from a hollow of interlacing branches. I tug at my trousers, struggling to slide them down from my hips. Deep red grooves scores the flesh where the trousers are becoming tight, a small punishment for my loose tongue.

I don't want to concede that Alaina is right. But under my defiance, I suspect that perhaps I'm being silly.

My father always reminds me that now I am a woman, I need to temper my spirit. He always points to his wife, Bretta, as a model that I should follow for a happy future. I haven't been able to find the words to tell him that my stepmother terrifies me with her complacency, that her unflinching acceptance of others' opinions and village gossip as truth makes me pray at night that I will never grow to be anything like her.

As I pull off my shirt, the chill of the end of summer slips across my bare skin. I shiver as I take a faded yellow linen gown from the sack, lift it over my head and let it slide over my slim body.

_Girls don't pretend to be knights. Women don't go on quests._

I push my head through the neck of a heavy orange and yellow woolen tunic. I smooth the dress down, my transformation complete.

"Milady," Rhys says, bowing and extending a hand as I step back into the clearing. I take his hand with one of mine and lift the front of my skirts with the other, as if I'm wearing an exquisite gown instead of the tired tunic. His rough hand is warm and gentle on mine.

I pucker my lips into a pouty smile and say, "Good sir, will you bring me my steed?"

Rhys grins and runs to Mairwen. I enjoy the new attention my old friend has paid me this summer. I often catch him look at me the way boys look at the prettier girls in the village. Growing up, I've always been my brother's companion and competitor, but my gender has stopped me from moving along with him as he's trained in our father's footsteps. Rhys's clumsily disguised appreciation gives me a tingling sense of power, a power that has been stripped from me when I was barred from my brother's side. To think that someone may believe that I, too, am one of the pretty girls gives me new fields in which to play, however tentatively.

I allow the edge of my finger to stroke his hand as he passes me the reins. "Thank you," I say, meeting his expressive brown eyes with my own. My deliberate glance feels bold, a secret acknowledgement of the new connection between us.

"May God spare you if you have intentions toward my sister," says Thestian, wrapping his arm about my shoulders. My heart drops as I realize my cautious attempt to flirt is so easily discovered. "She's more trouble than she's worth."

Rhys's cheeks flush crimson. "We've been friends since forever. She's as good as my own sister," he mumbles.

My private moment rudely exposed, I give Thestian a swift jab in the ribs with my elbow. "You're one to poke fun. Isn't it that bratty Enid? The newest girl you fumble with behind the barn?"

"Ah, yes, there are so many ladies who desire me, aren't there?" Thestian wonders, placing his hand over his heart, striking an overly dramatic pose.

"Girls in the village won't have anything to do with ya if you're not more careful, Thes," Rhy said. "With all the men at the fort, these girls have ideas of marriage and family."

"Why wouldn't they desire a match with me?" Thestian sniffed. "Aside from my looks, wit and charm, of course, I am the son of the Chieftain. I stand to inherit Tallent and, with a bit more training, a place in the king's court as a Holy Knight."

Turning to me, he bows to the waist. "And dear sister, certainly you could have your pick of the men at the fort."

"I have no desire to be a wife at this point."

"Ah, but Father puts his faith in the fortune told at our birth, no matter what you choose to believe. He knows you're destined to be the wife of a great man. Perhaps even a king?"

I pull my small horse to follow me along the packed dirt path. "Where are the stories of the glory won by wives?" I scoff. "I know I will never become a knight, but I wish to be known for something other than being his wife and his children's mother."

"Imogen," Rhys says, "I th—"

"But it's been foretold!" Thestian calls out. "We're destined for greatness. I am to be a brave Holy Knight and you a fertile mother. Doesn't Father say you will be blessed with a thousand sons?"

I kick a rock into the underbrush. "Nonsense."

"I think it sounds pretty good," Thestian said, grinning at Rhys.

"It's absurd," I mutter. "Unless born a hen, how can anyone be mother to a thousand anything?"

Thestian trembles with mock excitement and winks at Rhys. "Think of it. Some future king is just waiting to snap you up and make you his bride! You can fill a castle–maybe a dozen castles–with your squealing brood."

Thestian's words conjure up the images that's made my mind race on sleepless nights. I picture a great sow suckling a never-ending litter of hungry babes, each clambering over his brother for more. I've grown up watching the women in the village, including my own stepmother, as they've cared for several crying children and tended to their duties. Many carried the smallest on a hip, yet their bellies were already swollen with another on the way. I make a silent vow never to be with child. No matter what prophecy said.

"This isn't something to laugh about, Thes," Rhys says, rubbing at the dirt embedded in his calloused hand. "I can understand not wanting to fulfill the destiny of one's birth."

"Don't worry, Rhys," Thestian says. "As soon as I am knighted, you will be free from the drudgery of the fields to ride as my squire." He throws his arms out, commanding the very clouds to listen. "Together we will change the world!" he calls out for all to hear.

The words come to me without thought, the truth tumbling from my lips as if my heart is speaking. "I intend to walk a path of my own choosing. Not one dictated by decorum or dreamed up by those who do not know me."

My words are taken from my lips by a swirling mountain breeze, and the worries about my own fate are carried along with them.

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**A/N**: Hello all! And welcome to the first chapter of Daughter of Britannia :)

This story may start off as a little strange, but I promise everything will make sense as the it goes on. This chapter merely serves as a little background into Imogen's past.

Please feel free to ask any questions!

Until the next chapter,  
-Dev.


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